


Aflame

by Destiel101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cas Whump, Ellen and Jo survive, Hurt/Comfort, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiel101/pseuds/Destiel101
Summary: AU of Abandon All Hope. Cas escapes the ring of holy fire in time to save Ellen and Jo, though his wing are severely burnt.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need a title, any ideas are welcome.

Burning.

Searing.

Scorching.

Blistering.

Boiling.

Fire.

Fire.

FIRE.

Heat licked at his heals, reaching for his legs, grasping at his wings.

Hellfire.

No.

This isn’t Hell.

This is…

He doesn’t know.

All he knows is pain.

Burning.

Is he still on fire?

No. The pain is stationary.

His wings ache with burns.

Holy fire.

He remembers that.

But why?

He can’t think around the pain.

Why was there holy fire? Where was he?

Is he still awake?

Yes. He can feel himself walking, stumbling. Grasping at walls.

Getting away from…

From what?

He exits the building. The air is cold, makes the burns sear again, like the flames are back.

He stumbles through the street until he hears a growl.

Looking up he has to squint to focus his vision. It’s then he spots the hell hounds.

He doesn’t understand why they are here. They’re at the entrance of a store.

Who could be in there?

They’re scratching at the door, he stumbles to the building, slinking to the side door and slipping inside. Stepping over the line of salt.

They don’t pay him any attention.

They must have someone’s scent.

He hears talking, chains being moved. People leaving. But some area still there.

He rounds the corner.

He knows them.

He can’t say how right now. But he does.

He sees the home-made bomb. He knows what they intend.

He waits.

Just as the woman presses the button, he leaps.

He grabs them both before the flames reach them.

He makes it to a field just outside the town before his wings crumple and the pain becomes unbearable.

They all land in a heap.

The older woman in unconscious but unhurt.

The younger one.

There’s a reaper standing a few feet away.

He can’t have her.

He uses all his strength to crawl over to her, sending what he hopes are glares towards the reaper.

He has no idea how he manages to focus through the pain enough to steer his grace away from his wounds and onto hers.

He’s nowhere near strong enough to fully heal her but he does enough. He heals the gouges until they are barely deep enough to need stitches, repairing any internal damages along the way.

He makes sure the scratches are healed enough to have scabbed over before replenishing her lost blood. Maybe not as much as she needs, but enough to stave off the reaper.

He looks over his shoulder to where the reaper was, only to see it gone.

He is filled with relief before the pain washes over him again. He gasps in surprise before the darkness consumes him.


	2. Chapter 2

He was floating.

Flying.

No

He was…

Burning?

Sinking?

Falling?

It’s like he was underwater. Everything was clogged;

Muted;

Far away.

He was in agony.

But he wasn’t.

The pain was disconnected.

It was there but it wasn’t.

It was excruciating.

It was unbearable.

And he didn’t understand it.

Where was he?

What happened?

He can’t remember.

He can’t focus.

There are people around him. Talking. They’re muffled.

Who were they?

Two females.

Two males.

Focus.

One woman had her hand on his neck. A comforting hand, her fingers gently carding through the ends of his hair.

A younger woman. Barely a foot away.

He knew them. They were important.

Maybe.

Not to him?

He didn’t know them.

Not really.

But they were important to the ones important to him.

The males.

The boys.

The brothers.

Who were they?

The swords.

The righteous man.

The boy with the demon blood.

No.

Not anymore.

He was different.

Better.

His friend.

They were his friends.

His charges.

His family?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know anything.

He felt strange.

He needed to secure himself.

Focus.

Souls.

Bright.

Pure.

Protective.

Caring.

Loving.

Sam.

Dean.

Sam and Dean.

Sam and Dean.

Sam an-

Lucifer.

He remembered.

The Colt.

Carthage.

Reapers.

Holy fire.

Meg.

Hounds.

Ellen and Jo.

Mother and daughter.

Jo must have gotten caught by a hell hound.

It was her scent they had. The reason they wanted in the store so bad.

They wanted her.

But they were dead.

And Ellen and Jo weren’t.

He felt relief.

But also fear.

Hesitance.

Anxiousness.

Were these his feelings?

He wasn’t sure.

He tried to open his eyes but they were cemented shut.

He did everything in his power to not move his wings. The source of his pain.

He could feel burns on his vessel, but they were nothing in comparison.

He groans at the pain and feels his fingers twitch.

“Cas?”

Suddenly he can feel the attention on him. He wants to talk, to ask if the Colt worked. If they were safe. Did they know what the devil was doing?

But he couldn’t.

He could only twitch again.

He felt the hand on the back of his neck squeeze gently.

“Castiel? Can you hear us?”

The older woman, Ellen. The mother. He drank with her right?

When was that?

Spasms of pain ripple through his wings, making him groan again.

He can’t tell them what’s wrong.

He needs to.

But he can’t.

He can hear their muffled talking. Hear the concern in their voices. The anxiousness. The urgency, for what he doesn’t know. But he wants to help.

He forces his body to try and move.

It does.

But so, do his wings.

Agony rips through him like lightening. He’s never felt it with such intensity before. He cries out in pain, curling in on himself.

The voices are raised, scared. The hand on his neck moves to the back of his head. The brothers are on either side of him, one has a hand on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, trying to stop him from moving. The other one is behind him. His presence is felt but there is no touch accompanying it. He can only be thankful for a brief moment before another bout of pain rips through him.

He can hear them talking to each other, to him, but he can’t understand any of it.

The pain hits him again and he can only groan as the pain increases.

He’s not sure how much more he can take.

_Breath._

Breath?

_Come on, Cas. You need to breath._

Dean? Is he, is he praying to him?

Why does he need to breath? It isn’t required for him to survive.

But more pain overwhelms him and he can’t help but listen to Dean’s urgent yet comforting voice.

_Breath. In and out._

It takes all his energy to fill his lungs, once he does, he notices they’re screaming in protest. As he exhales, he can feel the pain in both his lungs and wings decreasing.

Someone takes his hand in theirs.

_Cas? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me._

It’s Sam this time. He does his best to squeeze the hand holding his.

_Great! Squeeze once for yes, twice for no. Do you remember what happened?_

He squeezes once.

_Good, are you able to move on your own?_

Move? Moving is pain.

He squeezes twice.

_Okay, we don’t know what happened to you but we can tell it’s bad. We have to get out of here, there’s a motel not too far away and Dean’s gone to get the Impala. It’s gonna hurt but we need to move you, okay?_

He squeezes again, his energy waning.


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn't like this.

Waking up is akin to dragging himself to the surface.

The surface of what?

He doesn't know.

It is difficult and confusing.

He hates it.

He likes control.

But he's lost it.

The memories come quicker this time.

He remembers being moved.

He remembers the agony.

Then the darkness.

He can still sense them.

They are nearby, but faint.

He is on a bed.

They are in a motel.

His coat and shirt is gone.

Bandages replace them.

They tended to his vessel.

Cleaned his wounds.

Maybe they could...

No.

Not unless...

But maybe.

He searches for them.

They are probably asleep, or merely across the room.

He wants them closer.

It's odd, and selfish.

But he wants their comfort, their worry.

It helps him focus.

Away from the pain.

Helps him stay grounded.

Not get lost in the pain.

Floating away.

Flying.

Soaring.

No.

He's not.

He's wounded.

His wings.

They're burnt.

He needs to tell them.

But he can't make his vessel do anything but twitch.

His mind though.

His grace.

If he can focus enough.

Yes.

They are sleeping.

He can't do much.

But he can do enough.

Sam is the closest.

Asleep on the floor next to his bed.

He's grateful.

If anyone could put the pieces together.

He focuses.

The dream.

He can't make anything around them. Just white.

Sam is across from him.

He can see his mouth moving.

He can hear nothing.

He focuses again.

_Wings_

He can feel Sam's confusion.

His vision is fading.

_Fire_

_Wings_

_Burn_

He can't say anymore as the black encompasses him.


	4. Chapter 4

Each time is harder.

But easier.

It takes longer to wake.

But easier to remember.

They are all around him again.

He feels safe.

Protected.

He knows nothing will get him here.

But did it work?

His message.

Sam is smart.

But did he understand.

He searches for him again.

Finds him holding his hand, like before.

He was probably trying to pray to him.

He squeezes.

The conversation continues, but Sam's attention shifts.

_ Cas? _

He squeezes again.

He can feel relief from the younger brother.

_ You're awake. Good, can you try to answer some questions? _

He squeezes once.

_ Was that really you in my dream? _

One squeeze.

_ I thought so. I've been thinking about what you said. I'm not sure if I'm right, but were you trapped in a ring of holy fire back in Carthage? _

One.

_ Okay. And you said wings and you're obviously very hurt. Did, did the fire burn your wings? _

One.

Sam goes quiet.

To him, he can hear him talking to the others.

He feels relived.

Sam would be the one to figure it out.

Now that they know they can help.

Somehow.

He feels the pain, it's subdued but constant.

He surveys the damage.

Burns.

On both wings.

The arches. A few small places.

It's a bad idea.

But he has to know how deep he was burned.

He flexes his wings.

He squeezes Sam's hand, probably too hard.

He is hit with a wave of panic.

Not his.

Theirs.

He's curled tighter.

Breathing raggedly.

Panting.

Face scrunched in pain.

He tries to loosen his grip on Sam's hand.

He can't.

His hand won't respond.

His body is locked.

It won't respond.

He doesn't know why.

Human bodies are strange.

Or maybe it's his fault.

His grace.

He's not sure.

He needs to focus.

One thing.

Find one thing.

Dean.

Dean is praying to him.

No.

Not praying.

Not really.

He's...

Singing?

_ -remember to let her into your heart- _

He knows the song.

But he doesn't.

It doesn't matter.

He focuses.

_ Hey Jude, don't make it bad. _

_ Take a sad song and make it better. _

_ Remember to let her into your heart. _

_ Then you can start to make it better. _

It does make it better.

He wishes he could thank Dean.

He will later.

For now, he needs to continue to focus.

He can't do much but he can do some.

Heal just enough to wake up fully.

He replays Dean's voice.

Over and over.

Letting his grace move to the melody.

Bask in Dean's voice.

In Dean.

Dean.

_ I'm right here Cas. _

Dean heard him.

Did he say his name out loud?

Maybe.

He doesn't care.

Dean is here.

Next to him.

They are all next to him.

He can breathe.

He is safe.


End file.
